Chapter Text
Vancouver had still been half-asleep when they all loaded the van up in an apartment's empty parking lot.
The air had that clean, damp sharpness that only seemed to exist in the Pacific Northwest — pine and pavement and something faintly metallic from the early morning chill. Their breath had come out in thin clouds as they hauled duffel bags and backpacks toward the rental van, which looked even larger now that it was packed to the ceiling with their lives for the next few weeks.
Charlie had dramatically attempted to Tetris a cooler into the back.
“It absolutely fits,” he'd insisted, shoving it harder and rattling the rest of the luggage already inside.
“It absolutely doesn’t,” Aryan had replied calmly, immediately seeking to reorganise Charlie's monstrous attempts at organisation with unnerving efficiency.
Dior had stood off to the side with two coffees balanced in one hand and her phone in the other, reading off their loosely planned route. “Border crossing before nine, Seattle by lunch if traffic’s kind, and no one is allowed to fall asleep before we officially leave British Columbia.”
“That feels targeted,” Leah had muttered half-heartedly, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. Walker heard her, even over the sound of the van doors slamming shut and the rising hum of the engine warming up.
He heard her because he was already listening for her. Which was part of the problem.
He’d been aware of her all morning in a way that felt slightly unmanageable. The way she’d shown up in an oversized hoodie and loose jeans, curls pulled back but not entirely tamed. The way she’d laughed too loud at something Dior said and then immediately looked down like she’d done something wrong. Or maybe he was imagining that part.
Maybe he was imagining all of it.
It had been four days since they’d decided to take the trip.
Four days of packing. Of group chats blowing up at midnight. Of “What name is the van under?” and “Who’s bringing the portable speaker?” and “We cannot survive on gas station snacks alone.”
And that meant it had only been three days since—
No.
He didn’t let himself finish that thought.
The van door had slid open with a mechanical scrape. Seats claimed themselves in a flurry of movement and mock arguments.
“I call back row!” Charlie shouted.
“You called that yesterday,” Dior shot back.
“Still counts!”
Aryan had taken the driver's seat without ceremony, already adjusting the GPS. Dior slid in behind him. Charlie collapsed into the very back with exaggerated relief.
Which had only left—
Walker climbed in through the side door, ducking his head automatically, and there it was. The empty seat beside Leah. Of course.
It made logistical sense. It always made logistical sense. Neither of them liked the very back. They both wanted a decent view.
It was fine. It was normal.
It meant absolutely nothing. Because it couldn't mean anything.
Walker had dropped himself in the seat adjacent to Leah's, with a full on body slump. Walker had tried to ignore his hypervigilance regarding the space between them.
Leah instinctively angled herself toward the window, one knee pulled up slightly, fingers fidgeting with the cuff of her hoodie sleeve — failing miserably at hiding her restless energy she pretended was vacant. Her sneaker braced her against the seat. Sunlight, thin but nevertheless persistent, slipped through the depressing clouds and caught along the side of her face, lighting the curve of her cheek and the edge of her curls.
She looked beautiful.
She had one earbud in, though nothing was playing yet.
“Morning,” Leah said lightly, not quite looking at him. Walker pretended not to feel the twinge in his heart at that.
“Morning,” he replied, aiming for equally light and landing somewhere just a little off.
Their shoulders brushed as he adjusted his seatbelt. It was barely a touch.
But his skin reacted instantly.
A thin, startling flare of heat where the fabric met. He stilled, hoping no one saw the way his fingers tightened briefly against the strap of the seatbelt. Leah shifted at the same time, like she’d felt it too.
Maybe she had.
The engine revved. The van rolled forward. And Vancouver began to slip behind them.
○
At the start, Walker found himself blending in with the frenzy of overlapping noise.
Charlie launched into an animated story about almost tripping over a prop shield during their final stunt rehearsal. Dior corrected half his details between sips of coffee. Aryan narrated traffic patterns like a seasoned travel show host.
The van filled with laughter.
Walker leaned back in his seat and let the rhythm of the highway settle in. Pine trees blurred into deep green streaks. The sky hung low and soft, the kind of overcast that made everything feel cinematic.
Beside him, Leah rested her forehead lightly against the window. He began to notice the small things.
The way her fingers tapped absently against her thigh in time with whatever song was faintly playing through the speakers. The way her jaw tightened briefly when Charlie nearly hit a high note during an off-key singalong.
The way she kept her arms folded loosely, as if unsure where to put them.
They’d always been comfortable around each other. That was the problem. It had never been whatever this was.
The van hit a gentle curve in the highway. Leah shifted with the movement. Her shoulder pressed into his. Not hard. Not intentionally. But enough to set Walker's skin alight.
The warmth of her bled through the layers of fabric between them.
His body reacted before his brain did. And the feel of Leah's lips slotting against his own plagued him again.
A sharp rush of awareness. A tightening in his chest. A pulse that suddenly felt louder than the music.
He stared straight ahead, jaw set in what he hoped was neutral concentration. Leah’s breathing changed slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for him to.
She adjusted after a second, creating a sliver of space between them again.
“Sorry,” she said softly.
“For what?” Walker asked, equally soft.
“Nothing. Just—” She gestured vaguely toward the road.
“Yeah,” Walker spoke, a flitting smile adorned on his face but glaringly obvious that his soul wasn't in it. “Road’s kinda curvy.”
It wasn’t particularly curvy. But neither of them corrected it.
Behind them, Dior was explaining why Seattle coffee tasted better than Vancouver coffee. Charlie gasped in mock offense. No one was watching. Walker was overwhelmingly grateful for that.
Because if anyone looked closely enough, they might notice the way he was holding himself slightly too still.
They might notice the way Leah hadn’t quite met his eyes yet.
And Walker didn't know what he would say to explain that.